


Spirited

by mindabbles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Blow Jobs, Case Fic, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Frottage, Getting Together, Ghost Hunter Draco Malfoy, Ghosts, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Obliviator Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Secondary Theme: Pottermore Fair, Sharing a Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2020-12-01 22:16:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20916308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindabbles/pseuds/mindabbles
Summary: Draco needs just a few good reviews on something called “The Yelp.” He’s finally on the verge of the perfect case when Harry bloody Potter decides to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.





	Spirited

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[118](https://docs.google.com/document/d/16er_sVwwFtbVQxtiFqHRWhw09kwNYhywsB-R48qtVPU/edit#).
> 
> Prompter, I hope you enjoy my take on your wonderful idea! Thank you to the mods for running this fest and for your kindness. Thank you to my beta for your help.

Draco shoots Pansy a quick look to gauge if she thinks Mrs Dunn, their newest perspective client, is as barmy as he does. Pansy’s expression is one of someone who’s had a vomit flavoured Every-Flavoured bean.

“To be clear,” Draco says. Mrs Dunn folds her hands on her lap and looks at him expectantly. Her front room smells of lemon furniture polish and baking. It looks a bit like several bunches of Pansy’s namesakes exploded at some point. It’s homey and altogether average for a Bed and Breakfast that is near, but not in, Edinburgh. “You _want_ a ghost.”

Draco isn’t sure how anyone would find themselves staying here unless they were stranded on the nearby motorway. Their business, Spirited, sorely needs publicity, something that will get his business into Muggle papers and, Blaise tells him, on something called The Yelp. Sounds like someone calling for help, so Draco’s not convinced. Either way, Mrs Dunn’s out of the way bed and breakfast seems an unlikely prospect.

“Yes. That’s right, dearie,” Mrs Dunn says. “If you could prove she’s real, and maybe have a word with her, ask her to give a shout or a bang now and again when guests are about, I’d appreciate it ever so. A right boost to my ratings that would be.”

Now, that’s a first.

“We’re usually hired to get them to leave,” Pansy says. Mrs Dunn frowns in her direction. Pansy clearly set Mrs Dunn’s teeth on edge from the first.

“I’d gathered,” says Mrs Dunn. She turns to Draco. “I’m number twenty of twenty-one on the ‘Twenty-One Most Haunted Bed and Breakfasts Near Edinburgh’ list on B and B Getaways. A verified ghost might bump me up a bit.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Mrs Dunn,” Draco says. He’s never heard of _B and B Getaways_, or a market for haunted places to stay, but if Muggles want to stay in places with ghosts they can’t see and pretend they can, Draco wants his name next to the top ten on that list. “It is a highly specialised service, however, and will be more than our regular fee.”

“Surely it’s less dear to get them to stay than it is to get them to leave,” Mrs Dunn says, crossing her sturdy arms over her ample bosom.

Draco can’t help but begin to like this woman.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says again. “Tell me what makes you believe you’ve a ghost in residence.”

“I’ve already said. We’re number twenty on the twenty-one most haunted list,” says Mrs Dunn. Pansy covers a snort with a cough. Mrs Dunn glares at her and then she leans in and nods at Draco conspiratorially. “Being honest, I’ve doubted it myself sometimes but my wee granddaughter says the queerest things.” Draco smiles encouragingly. “Well. We’re on the list on account of the previous lady of house. She went and kicked the bucket…that is to say, Miss Moriarty expired tragically a day after she was to be reunited with a long lost love. Legend has it that he was away to seek his fortune and had written he was to return on that day. He never returned and Miss Moriarty died of a broken heart. She stays, hoping that one day, he will return and they’ll be reunited.”

Pansy coughs again and it sounds awfully like _drivel._

“Mrs Dunn,” Draco says, more loudly than necessary. He’s fairly certain he covers Pansy’s outburst. “What have you seen or heard or felt?”

“Sometimes a room’s cold, even when I’ve a lovely fire. Water splashes when I’m doing the washing up, but most of it seems to be in the upstairs bath. Just a feeling, you know. I’m sure that Miss Moriarty stays there, maybe dolling herself up for her fellow in case he comes back to her.”

A bang from upstairs makes Draco jump.

“Is that her now?” Pansy asks, smiling sweetly at Draco. Cow.

“That’s my granddaughter. I love the wee thing, I do, but she’s a bit of an odd duck,” says Mrs Dunn. “Mrs Williams over in Wishaw is number fourteen on the list. I want to beat her,” she adds with a distinctly mercenary tone.

Draco pulls a contract out of his bag. “In that case, we’d better get started.”

*****

Harry shakes his head to rid himself of the dizzy, off-balance feeling he still always gets with Apparition. The alley behind the row of shops smells of rubbish — not helping with the queasiness. Down at the end of the alley, Ron’s standing with his wand out, trained on four teenage boys. One of them leans against the wall, going for nonchalant. It only makes him look more afraid than his cowering partners in crime. A Muggle family is speaking to another Auror, who’s transfigured her uniform to look like a constable’s.

The call coming from Ron was unusual. Harry’s almost always at the scene long after the Aurors have left.

Ron sighs. “They sent us first, mate, but seems they were having a laugh. Nothing serious. Idiot kids. That’s, I mean, not that what you do isn’t serious.” Ron sticks his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish.

“Get over yourself, mate,” says Harry. “Buy me a pint later.” Ron still has trouble with the fact that Harry switched departments a week before they’d finished training. Being an Auror, in the end, didn’t feel right. He likes being part of the clean-up crew, enjoys helping to keep the balance between the Muggle and magical world. His life was out of balance for so long and this aspect of his current life suits him just fine.

A few steps down the pavement, another Auror is standing with the Muggles, her wand dangling by her side. Harry nods in their direction and Ron nods back. These people must have seen whatever it was the young hooligans did. Harry hopes it was a harmless prank. He concentrates on the charm and his Ministry robe transforms into a constable’s uniform.

As he walks past, he hears Ron ask the kids what on earth possessed them to charm the mannequins in the shop to follow the Muggles and mimic their walks.

“We’ve only just learned to combine spells,” the apparent leader says.

“Because you can, doesn’t mean you should,” Ron scolds, sounding so much like Molly that Harry has to stifle a laugh.

“Didn’t mean no harm.” The boy kicks at the pavement with the toe of his shoe and his friends all look equally sullen. Idiots, not dark magic, like Ron said.

“Good afternoon,” Harry says to the three Muggles. “I’d like to ask you a few questions. Over here, please.” He leads them away. There’s a café around the corner. He’ll take them in there and when they’ve had their memories modified, they’ll realise they would very much like a coffee and be in just the place. Neat and tidy.

It’s ridiculously easy. People are so willing to believe what’s in front of them that Harry doesn’t even need to implant the desire for a coffee. Simply being there, the familiarity and comfort of that, will erase any unease that’s left over from their unsettling morning. That’s the base of the Obliviation charm as well – we want to know and remember what’s comfortable to believe. If a piece of information doesn’t have an easy place to land in our brains, it’s simple to pluck it out. Harry’s seen it dozens of times now.

“_Obliviate,_” Harry whispers, channelling his magic wandlessly. The three people blink and turn to look at the chalkboard menu. Now that he’s here and smells the rich and bitter coffee, he realises how long it’s been since his morning tea.

He gets in line behind the people whose memories he’s modified, and they have no idea that the police officer behind them was only just inside their minds.

“Morning Constable,” says the young woman behind the counter, smiling.

Harry thanks her for the coffee and glances down at the newspaper rack beside the counter. The paper that catches his eye runs one headline announcing that the Queen is really an extra-terrestrial being and another that a budgie in Cornwall can predict lottery numbers. As fascinating as the two lead articles are, the one that makes him pick it up has the headline, “Your Worst Fears Confirmed: Ghosts Are Real.”

Beneath the headline is a photo of a man holding up a silver thing that looks like an antennae. Harry stares at it. You can’t see the man’s face, but there’s something very familiar about him.

“Did you want the paper, Sir?” asks the Barista.

“Oh, no thanks,” says Harry. He should take it and he should inquire. He doesn’t. He can’t be sure who the man in the photo is, after all, he tells himself as he takes a sip of the bitter coffee.

*****

“What do you think?” Draco asks. He drops a large briefcase next to Pansy where she’s sitting on the sofa, thumbing through a magazine.

“We should advertise in here,” Pansy says. She holds up the magazine. It’s a British tourism magazine.

“What do you think of this?” He asks, gesturing at the briefcase. He’s rather proud of it. He bought in a Muggle shop and managed the transaction with minimal looks of suspicion from the shopkeeper. It’s a square black case with _Spirited_ charmed onto the side in green letters. Most of their customers have been nutters with abundant imagination and a lack of money. They have to find ways to be taken more seriously. Showing up for jobs with more than their wands hidden in their robes and an old television antennae feels like the place to start.

“It’s hideous. What’s it for?” Pansy makes a face as if she’s smelt something horrible.

“Our equipment,” Draco says, feeling a bit deflated. He flips it open. On one side, there’s a Sneakoscope, a Muggle recording device that now has the name _Spiritometre_ across it’s top, the camera he got for his eleventh birthday, and several delicate-looking silver instruments he got from _Maury’s Magical Mementos_ whose function he doesn’t know. Tucked into pockets on the other side are glass vials, pipettes, a measuring tape, a leather-bound notebook and ballpoint pens he got at the same shop as the briefcase, and two books — _Identification and Collection of Ectoplasm_ and _Ghosts of Great Britain_.

Pansy looks at it for three seconds and says, “But all we need is one of those mobile phones. Muggles will believe anything if you’ve one of them in your hand.”

“You watch,” says Draco, snapping the case shut with more force than is strictly necessary. “Mrs Dunn will love it.”

“I’ll watch, and in the meantime, I’m going to write us an ad for a proper magazine.”

*****

“You look very nice, dear. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“Liar,” says Harry. He’s not certain how he ended up with a mirror that sounds like Mrs Weasley. Luna’s suggested the universe brought them together because Harry needs mothering. Harry runs a hand through his hair one more time, going for artfully dishevelled instead of street urchin. His clothes, at least, are serviceable. One good thing about living in the Muggle world until he was eleven is that he can move easily between both worlds. And sometimes he wants an evening away from anyone asking him why he’s not an Auror, why he’s not marrying Ginny, and if they can snap just one photo with him.

“Have you tried a comb? You’ve such a nice face,” asks the mirror and Harry decides it’s time to go.

He’s not a fan of nightclubs, but he does like a quiet drink in a pub with some music and other blokes who might be interested in him. Blaise of all people suggested one to him when they’d met up at a less savoury place and discovered that they had no need to hate each other anymore. It’s not that far from Diagon Alley, so there’s always a possibility he’ll run into other wizards. He’s only run into people he doesn’t really know, and is fine to see or not see — with one exception, and not a surprising one given Harry’s source of knowledge about this place. The first time he saw Draco here, Harry took a back, corner table and cast a _Notice-Me-Not_ charm. He watched Draco, who seemed so out of place in the casual pub. Draco, however had sat at the bar for hours. His clothes were a bit shabby – something that took Harry by surprise – and he ate bowl after bowl of the Bombay Mix and pork scratchings the publican put out on the bar. Thrown off by what he was seeing, Harry paid Draco’s tab anonymously.

Over the months Harry has been coming here, he’s found he doesn’t terribly mind the prospect of running into Draco. They’ve even greeted each other without open hostility on more than one occasion, although Harry always feels that old flair of _something_ at seeing Malfoy, and he’s fairly certain Malfoy feels the same if the way his eyes flash is an indication.

Harry takes a seat at the bar. The sign above the cash register boasts that the pub has been there since 1654. Harry wonders if it’s been a gay bar that long.

A man leans against the bar, holding up a finger to signal his drink order. The man is tall and slender. His pale hair reflects the pink and green and blue of the neon sign in the window. Harry lets his gaze roam appreciatively, knowing even as he does, that he should look away. He’s about to say hello, not be the one caught off-guard, when the man turns, a tumbler of whisky in his hand.

“Slumming it, Malfoy?”

Harry has to admit that he’s impressed. Draco’s eyes narrow for a split second before he takes a sip of his drink, shrugs casually, and utterly composed, says, “And what would that say about you?”

“I’m happy to admit I’m slumming it,” says Harry. The jolt of excitement he feels surprises him. He’s always sparred with Malfoy, but it’s never been particularly pleasant. Harry doesn’t give his next move any thought. If he did, he might not do it. He moves the two seats along the bar and sits down next to Malfoy.

Malfoy eyes Harry as if he’d rather sit next to a Troll and Harry forces himself not to react.

“How’ve you been?” Harry asks. He waits for the sneer, for the sarcasm. It doesn’t come this time and Harry’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved.

“I’ve been worse,” says Draco.

Harry doesn’t tell him that he knows he’s been worse — seen him looking like he hasn’t had a good meal in days. Lately, however, Draco’s clothes have looked newer and he doesn’t scarf down the free snacks on the bar.

“You?” Draco asks.

“I suppose I’ve been worse as well,” says Harry.

“Potter,” says Draco. “Does this conversation mean that if we’re not fighting, we’re the most boring people on the face of the earth?”

“I refuse to believe that,” says Harry. “Tell me about what you’ve been up to.”

“Believe it or not, I help Muggles sleep at night,” says Draco.

“That is rather hard to believe,” says Harry. “Now you mention it, I suppose that’s what I do as well.”

An hour later, Harry has learnt that Draco spent years struggling. He thought he’d continue to exist, always on the edge of catastrophe until everyone forgot about Voldemort or he tumbled over the edge and died in a gutter — whatever happened first.

He thought things would never get better until a bright Tuesday in March when he was doing some odd jobs for a Muggle family. The Mum said she thought the garden was haunted by a the spirit of a little boy. Draco told her he had some experience with ghosts and he went into the garden, walked around, pretended to examine the shed, poked about in the bushes. Under one of the bushes, he found a very old looking toy train. He pretended to bury it, knowing the woman was watching from the kitchen window. Then he went back inside and told her that the boy was at rest and she’d hear no more from him. She was so relieved that she gave Draco a huge tip, and his new business was born.

“This wasn’t the worst evening I’ve ever had,” says Draco, draining his glass. “But I’ve an early call in the morning.”

“Not my worst evening, either,” says Harry. “Maybe we should do it again sometime. And maybe I’ll tell you why I’ve let everyone down and didn’t become an Auror.”

Draco gives Harry a funny look and says, “I should think that was obvious, Potter. If I were you, I’d want to study how to get rid of troublesome memories as well. I know I do. And, there will be a next time.”

Draco drops some money on the bar and walks to the door, leaving Harry utterly speechless.

*****

“Nice of you to come, darling,” Pansy says.

“Don’t start,” says Draco. His head pounds. He apparently downed several more drinks than was advisable last night. He didn’t sleep well at all and he might put that down to his blood-alcohol level, and he might put that down to the look on Harry’s face as Draco said there would be a next time that kept playing in his mind.

He hefts the briefcase onto the table in the café and Pansy eyes it with great distaste over her cappuccino.

“You’re a bit old to be this dysfunctional at noon,” says Pansy. Draco forces himself not to snap at her. He knows she’s thinking about the months he spent inebriated after the war. He knows she’s always a little afraid he’ll slip back into that dismal place.

“It’s not that serious, Pans.” He proves his point by pinching the rest of her cappuccino. “Let’s get to Mrs Dunn’s.”

*

“Hello dear,” says Mrs Dunn, completely ignoring Pansy. “I thought you’d arrive at midnight.”

“You’re quite right,” says Draco. “The real work begins at midnight, but we’ve quite a bit of set up needing done before then.”

Pansy rolls her eyes at Draco. She doesn’t see the need for the theatre, insists that the Muggles would be more impressed if they did some simple magic, made up something about a spirit causing it, and had done with it. Her way would be simpler, but Draco’s worked too hard to pull himself out of dire straights to risk the Ministry dogging his every move.

“Pansy,” Draco says sweetly. “Would you set up the candles?”

“She doesn’t like candles,” says a voice from the doorway.

Mrs Dunn’s granddaughter is leaning against the door frame, a sullen look on her face.

“White candles will help us communicate with the ghost,” says Draco. The child might be a problem. Children are much more astute bullshit detectors than adults, he’s usually found. Or at least they don’t have filters that prevent them from speaking up.

“She doesn’t like you, either,” says the girl, making a face at Pansy.

“Your grandmother? She’s made that quite clear.”

“No,” says Trudy. “Our ghost. She says she’s known girls like you.”

Something about the way the child says that makes Draco look at her again. She sounds as if she’s talked to a ghost, sounds as if she can see it. Draco’s about to ask her when Mrs Dunn chooses that moment to walk into the room.

“Don’t be rude,” Mrs Dunn says. “Run along now.” As soon as the child is gone, Mrs Dunn turns to them and says, “She’s always been an odd child. She stays with me because her parents couldn’t deal with her. Odd child. Odd things happen around her. I’ve no bother with her, though. Needs a firm hand.”

“She’s lucky to have you,” Draco says, hoping to move quickly from parenting discussions. “Where do you sense the highest levels of paranormal activity?” Draco asks. “We’ll set up there.”

“Upstairs,” Mrs Dunn says. “You can use the room at the top of the stairs. Come along,” she says firmly and Draco imagines that not many people ignore her instructions.

Draco puts his suitcase on the chair in Mrs Dunn’s attic bedroom. It’s just as one would expect. It smells faintly musty even as it’s meticulously clean. The walls are the yellow of Canary Creams and the bed is covered with a delicately embroidered coverlet in shades of yellow, pink, and spring green. There is not a space that isn’t bedecked by a tiny porcelain vase, a dried flower arrangement, or an ornately framed picture. Narcissa would refuse to sleep here on principle.

“Well isn’t this horrifying,” says Pansy, breezing into the room and depositing her bright red case right in the middle of the pastel coverlet.

“It’s — charming.”

“You have a bit of a thing for our Mrs Dunn, then?”

“You’re a lunatic,” says Draco. She can be a right pain in the arse, but Draco would never have survived the past decade without her caustic humour.

“I’ll play,” she says. “What’s the first act?”

“We set up instruments around the place, set some charms to make it seem as if a ghost is about, and in the morning we write up our findings so she can post them on her website,” says Draco. “And then we pay the rent before we end up operating out of the alley behind Knockturn Alley.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Pansy says.

Draco catches movement out of the corner of his eye and for a moment, he thinks there actually is a ghost. It’s only the little girl. She’s an unlikable sort. The kind of child he would have picked on at school. She scowls at them from the door.

“You don’t want us here, do you?” he asks. He’s a feeling she has more to say than she has, so he might as well try and connect with her.

“No, and she doesn’t neither,” Trudy says.

“Your grandm—” Pansy starts.

“The ghost?” interrupts Draco.

“We don’t want you to make her leave.” She stomps her foot and crosses her arms.

“You’re grandmother’s paying us to get her to stay,” Pansy says, rolling her eyes.

“She doesn’t like you,” Trudy says, and she runs off down the hallway.

“Well, I don’t like _you_,” Pansy mutters.

“Something off about that child,” says Draco.

“Right, she’s a little monster,” Pansy says.

Draco and Pansy set up candles throughout the house. They place the contraptions that record sounds on the corners of every room and on the stairs. They tell Mrs Dunn that the spirits might become restless and instruct her to put Trudy to bed in her room and lock the door. Draco pulls out an electronic device he got at a Muggle shop — he thinks it’s for detecting carbon monoxide. He pretends to press a series of buttons on it and charms it to stick to the door, and charms the door to be warm to the touch.

Mrs Dunn looks at him like she thinks he is the highest order of bullshit artist, until he says, “Ghosts abhor positive energy and thrive in cold. I’ve placed necessary protections on you bedroom.” Mrs Dunn touches the door and starts as she feels the heat. The looks she gives him now is considerably less skeptical.

They make their way back to the front room. Pansy makes a show of checking the placement of candles and the recording devices they’ve left about.

“Pansy will attempt to make contact,” says Draco as Pansy sinks into one of the big armchairs.

Pansy closes her eyes and breathes deeply. She sing-songs something unintelligible that Draco vaguely recognises as the instructions for brewing Veritaserum. Draco grips his wand in his pocket and wordlessly charms the candles to flicker on and off three times.

At his signal, Pansy rocks and says in a hoarse voice, “She’s here.”

Draco casts wordless charms to make furniture bang about upstairs, doors blow open, and low moans sound through the house. Mrs Dunn’s white face makes it clear that she’s no longer a skeptic.

“There’s no danger,” Draco whispers, as Pansy continues to sway and mumble conversationally.

“None except bursitis in my shoulder from the weight of my purse,” Mrs Dunn whispers back.

Draco’s about to tell her that he appreciates her mercenary sensibilities, when Pansy abruptly stops swaying and says, “She’s invited us to stay.”

Mrs Dunn perks up and asks, “Does that mean she’ll stay and haunt my guests?”

Pansy blinks and shakes her head and rolls her shoulders. “She’s granted permission for us to try and connect and understand her needs. We cannot ask for more than that yet.”

“Oh, my,” says Mrs Dunn.

Draco and Pansy spend the rest of the night pretending to take measurements and record sounds and apparitions. Mrs Dunn yawns hugely and announces that she’s away to bed at about three in the morning.

Dawn breaks and they pack up their things. This is the first night they’ve put on such a performance and Draco’s quite proud of them. He knocks on Mrs Dunn’s bedroom door and she emerges in a flowered dressing gown and fluffy slippers.

“We’ll analyse what we’ve found and be back in two nights’ time to set up again and see if we can’t convince your guest to visit with us again,” says Draco.

“I’ll be number one on the list before you can say Bob’s your uncle,” Mrs Dunn says sleepily.

Draco can think about nothing but the bath in his flat, his tea kettle, and his bed as he steps out of Mrs Dunn’s house.

“Oi, over here,” someone calls. Draco looks and a young man with a pencil behind his ear holds up a Muggle camera and Draco hears a dozen clicks. Before he can say a word, the man pockets the camera and dashes around to Mrs Dunn’s back garden.

*****

Harry jumps as something whizzes past his face and lands on his desk.

“You were away somewhere, mate,” says Ron, smirking. “Have a look at this. Page fourteen.”

A family with two ruddy-faced children smile up at him from the magazine cover. A seaside village with pretty little shops and a promenade is the backdrop for this happy scene. The rather obvious name _British Tourism_ is in black letters on the cover. Harry flips to page fourteen, but it’s not a article or a photo. It’s a filler page covered with advertisements. It doesn’t take him long to find what Ron means him to see.

In the bottom left corner, is a small advertisement. Whoever paid for it didn’t have much money because it’s black and white while others are colour. The text reads, _Hauntings? Undead Apparitions? Spiritual Unrest in your attic? Call Spirited for all of your ghostly (and ghastly) needs. Proprietors D. Mall and P. Parks._

Harry sighs. “Not awfully creative with the names, were they?”

“I’d be looking out for your inter-office memo if I were you,” says Ron.

Malfoy and Parkinson are allowed to have a business. There is nothing in the ad to suggest they’re anything but garden-variety charlatans.

“Potter,” shouts Irvin.

“I’m right here,” says Harry. And he is. They only have one office, so Harry’s head of department, Irvin, is across the room. Harry’s sure he resents not having a wing for their little department and he compensates by behaving as if he has an office and shouting as if he’s calling to Harry from down the hall.

“Malfoy’s gone and got himself in the Muggle papers.” A larger something whizzes across the office and lands on Harry’s desk.

“I was going to ask if we were on for lunch,” says Ron. “But I think you’ve an appointment now. My regards to Malfoy.”

The Muggle newspaper on Harry’s desk sports a large colour photo of two people looking surprised as they step out of a quaint-looking house with window boxes on either side of the front door. The headline reads, _A Haunting with your Holiday? Ghost hunters confirm Edinburgh B-n-B has a resident ghost_. Harry blinks and looks closer.

“Oh hell,” he says. Malfoy looks both sleepy and surprised. If it were a wizard photograph, Harry can tell Malfoy would be blinking slowly. The other person is in profile and a bit blurry, but it’s unmistakably Parkinson.

*****

Draco drains the last of his tea. There’s about a tablespoon of leaves left at the bottom of the tin, so he’s particularly grateful for the call they received this morning. Mrs Dunn can’t support their business singlehandedly. A woman’s shaky voice said her family is being terrorised by a ghost. She sounded so upset that Draco wonders if it’s actually real this time, or maybe a Poltergeist. He’s fastening the clasps on the case when there’s a knock at the door. The only person who has ever knocked at this door is Blaise, and he never comes round before noon. The knock comes again.

“Answer the bloody door,” Pansy shouts from the other room just as Draco pulls it open to find Potter standing in his doorway.

“Am I interrupting?” Harry asks with a small half-smile that makes Draco want to smack him or stare at him for the rest of the day.

“No, I was waiting for you to pop in,” says Draco. “What in the hell are you doing here? How do you even have this address?” Potter holds up that blasted ad. “Bloody Pansy,” Draco mutters. “Why are you here, Potter?”

“I’m here on business, actually,” says Harry. Draco enjoys the sheepish, uncomfortable look on Potter’s face. “You and Parkinson had your photo in a Muggle newspaper.”

Draco’s stomach clenches. He knew that would come back to bite him in the arse the moment it happened. “The Ministry must not have much to do if a photo in a Muggle newspaper is worth a visit from the great Harry Potter.”

Draco can see Potter working to control his temper. The muscles in Potter’s jaw flex. It gives him a thrill and makes him want to poke at Potter more.

“I’ve been sent to audit your business practices, to make sure they don’t run afoul of the International Statute of Secrecy,” says Harry. “I’m certain it won’t take long.”

“We’ve an appointment,” Draco says. “Our little chat will have to wait.”

“Right,” says Harry, getting up and pulling on his cloak.

“Right, what?” Draco asks.

“No better way for me to get an idea of your business practices than to come along,” says Harry.

“Pansy is my sidekick. I don’t need another.”

“Bite me,” says Pansy, coming into the room. She’s wearing a red Muggle pantsuit. Sometimes Draco thinks she likes having to have two wardrobes enough that it makes up for being ostracised. “I’m nobody’s sidekick.”

“Whoever goes, I’m going with them,” says Harry. “Either that, or I go back to my office and file a memo of non-cooperation.”

“You don’t touch anything, you don’t say anything,” says Draco. He needs this client. He can’t have Potter stumbling about like an Erumpent in a china shop.

The house is on a quiet street in Basingstoke. Neat front gardens line the road. The pavement is wet with a recent rain and the comforting smell of smoke from several fireplaces seems to chase away the chill.

“Number Thirteen,” says Draco, checking a piece of paper he’s pulled from his pocket.

“Unusual,” says Harry. “The number. They usually avoid it.”

“Given that you’re at my heels, I’d have to agree. Seems it’s an unlucky number,” Draco says. Pansy laughs and Harry looks genuinely unhappy for a moment. It passes quickly but it’s enough to take the shine off the remark.

One of the family, Samantha, a fit-looking woman in her forties, let’s them in. “That’s the wife, Jan,” she says, with a look that dares Draco to say something disparaging. Jan is on the sofa, hands clasped in her lap. Two young teenagers are sitting off to the side, transfixed by their mobiles. “That’s Jack and Jill,” she says, again giving Draco a daring look – about what, he can’t imagine.

Draco introduces Pansy and Harry, only giving them Harry’s first name. He’s pleased to see that Potter takes the offered spot on the sofa without saying a word. Draco sits next to him where he can keep an eye on him.

Pansy hands out business cards and says, “We’ll start with hearing about what’s troubling you.”

“Unlucky, I said,” says Jan. “Thirteen. It’s a bad sign, I said. I said from the beginning that the place had an odd feeling.”

“You’ll think we’re being silly,” says Samantha.

“Not at all,” Draco says kindly.

Jan and Samantha go on to describe odd noises from creaking sounds to moaning. Things seem to get moved about and once their son woke in the night screaming that there was someone in his room. Glasses fall from the cupboard for no reason, light bulbs are unscrewed, the telly and computer turn on when no one is near them, and food that was put away in the fridge ends up on the floor.

“When did this start?” Potter asks, leaning forward.

Draco pinches his thigh. “Yes, when did this start?” He glances at Potter and notices that Potter cheeks have a slight pink to them.

“It was about eighteen months ago,” Jan says.

“Did anything change around that time?” Pansy asks.

“The arsehole came to live here,” says the girl, looking up momentarily from her mobile.

“Jill,” scolds Samantha. She takes a breath. “What she means is that we took in my cousin’s son for a bit. He’d had a rough go of it. Not fitting in at school and such. Anyway, it didn’t work out and he’s just left last weekend. He’s gone to his Dad in Australia.”

“Any change since he left?” Pansy asks.

“Besides that there’s no arsehole?” Jill mutters.

Jan shoots her a stern look and says, “Now that you mention it, yes. Things are much calmer. But he wasn’t doing the things. He wasn’t always in the room or even home when they happened.”

“Right,” says Draco. “I think we can help. We’ll just go upstairs and see if we can connect and get the spirit to leave your home. Come on you two.”

“They don’t have a ghost,” says Potter as soon as they’re at the top of the stairs.

“Of course they don’t,” says Draco. “That boy brought a poltergeist along with him. They’re lucky it left with him if what we saw of charming Jill is an indication of her unchecked emotions.”

“So, you’re going to charge them when you know their problem is over?” Harry asks.

Draco whirls on him. “Don’t you dare judge me. This is the only possible skill I have in the Muggle world, the only place I’m allowed to work, I might add. Like I told you, I help them sleep at night. I give them what they pay for. What’s kinder – tell them something they wouldn’t possibly believe, wouldn’t ease their fears, and would violate your precious statute, by the way. Or should I stand up here, Pansy and I can take some measurements, make some noises, and go down and tell them they’re safe.”

“All right, all right,” says Harry, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “Do your work.”

They stay upstairs for an hour. In case one of the teenagers sneaks up, Draco sets up the Sneakoscope, several of the delicate instruments, and Pansy takes photos and pretends to take measurements with a mobile phone. He does detect the residues of magic in the room where the older boy was staying and wonders if he is actually a wizard who wasn’t allowed to go to Hogwarts.

“I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble,” Pansy says, when they rejoin the family in the front room.

“We were able to connect and ask the spirit to leave,” says Draco. “It responded well to negotiation and we suggested it relocate to the church at the end of the road.”

Samantha looks at Jan kindly and says, “See, love. It’s fine.” Draco has the impression that Samantha isn’t buying any of it, and probably thinks there is a completely non-supernatural explanation for everything, but is going along for the sake of her family.

“In the meantime,” says Pansy, handing them a pamphlet with the _Spirited_ logo on it. “Burn incense twice a day. Sage is best. Take it to each corner of the house and ring a bell in the room when you enter it with the sage. And, in the next couple of days, clean the house from top to bottom.”

“Could use it anyway,” Jan says, laughing a little shakily.

Samantha walks them to the door. “Thank you so much,” she says. She shakes Draco’s hand. “Really. It’ll be such a relief to have them know it’s over.”

“You’re most welcome,” says Draco. “Call us if there’s anything else.”

They step out onto the street. The gloom of earlier has cleared and the sun is bright on the damp street. Draco runs through what he said and did in his head, analysing each move for anything Potter could object to. He turns to ask Potter what he’s going to say in his report and Potter is standing there with the queerest look on his face, a look that makes Draco’s cheeks turn pink quite against his will.

“You actually like helping them,” says Harry. His soft tone doesn’t hold disbelief.

“We need the money,” snaps Pansy, but Draco can’t stop himself from smiling and shrugging sheepishly.

Draco expected Harry to Disapparate as soon as they stepped into an alley, but he follows Draco and Pansy back to the flat. Draco finds he’s no longer embarrassed for Harry to see their simple flat, or that their office is their living room. Something about Potter, this Potter, is so different from the one Draco knew those years ago. Or maybe, Draco’s different.

“Cup of tea, Potter?” Draco asks as they step inside. He drops the case and Pansy kicks off her shoes. She shoots Draco a questioning look.

“I — I’d love to, but I’ve, um, I’ve got to go,” says Harry.

“Where are you running off to?” Draco asks. “Have someone waiting for you?”

Harry rubs the back of his neck. “I do, actually.”

“In that case, you’d better be off,” says Draco, ignoring the black hole that’s formed in the pit of his stomach. “You definitely need a shower and a change or they’ll run off.”

“Thanks a lot, Malfoy,” says Harry. “But you’re not wrong.” He smiles, a little lopsided, and Draco can’t tell if the smile is wistful or anticipatory. He hates when he can’t read people.

*****

Harry excuses himself to go to the loo. The restaurant is nice enough. The food is good and the selection of lager and ale is better. The company is fine.

Paul is very fit. He’s smart and funny and he’s started looking at Harry more fondly and less like he can’t believe his luck. The first time they went out, it was a bit awkward. Harry’s used to that. By the fourth time they went out, Paul was more relaxed and Harry felt less like an exhibit. He even started to look forward to seeing Paul.

The thing is, he can’t stop thinking about the way Malfoy’s eyes spark when he’s said something that cuts Harry to the quick.

Harry washes his hands and meets his own eyes in the mirror. “Idiot,” he says to the face staring back at him.

“Dessert here or at yours?” Paul asks when Harry sits back down.

“The thing is. Here’s the thing,” Harry says. Paul smiles and Harry answers his smile and says, “I’m knackered. It was a bit of a day. I think I need to call it a night. Next time?”

“Okay, Harry,” says Paul, and Harry gets the impression he was less than convincing.

Back at his flat, he pours himself a healthy measure of Firewhisky. He sinks into his favourite chair by the fire and summons a quill and some parchment. He wants to write his report while it’s all still fresh in his mind — the careful way Draco and Pansy concealed their magic, the way they worked with what the family already believed, the way Draco made them feel safe.

Harry pours another drink when he’s signed off on the report and he stares into his fire. Paul could be here with him. By now, they’d be wrapped around each other. Harry’s cock is half hard, thinking about the last time they fucked in front of this fire. He rolls his hips and enjoys to the loose, aroused feeling of the whisky and memories of Paul’s fingers opening him. Draco has longer, thinner fingers, and Harry wonders how they’d feel inside him. Harry wonders if Draco’s cock is long and slender like the rest of him, and how that would feel sliding between Harry’s lips. He slips his hand into his pants and wraps his fingers around his now fully hard cock. He strokes and strokes and comes so very quickly, with the image of Draco’s crooked smirk in his head.

*

Harry rushes the tea cart first thing when he gets to the office. He’d wakened late, still on the sofa, pants around his knees, and barely had time to clean up and dress before rushing to work. Not his best morning.

Ron’s there, waiting for him. He hands Harry a tea and a roll.

“Thanks,” Harry says, taking a gulp of the scalding tea.

“Rough night with Paul?” Ron asks. “I thought you were going to miss our tea time.” Since they split into different departments, Ron and Harry have been meeting up for tea every morning.

“Nah,” Harry says. The rolls is buttery and fluffy and perfect for soaking up the remains of the whisky. “I was with Malfoy all day, and then wanted to get the report done while it was fresh, you know. Left him at the restaurant. Don’t think he was well pleased.”

“You left Paul because you wanted to go home and think about Malfoy?” Ron asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Report, I had to do the — oh, shut up.”

Harry looks away from Ron’s laughing face and takes another long drink of tea. He’s trying to decide if he should even try and explain himself when he’s hit square in the forehead with something.

A pink, paper airplane backs up and takes another run at him. Harry’s quick enough this time and he catches it before it takes an eye out.

“Irvin not a patient man, eh?” Ron asks, laughing again.

“You having a fun morning?” Harry unfolds the crumpled paper. Irvin’s apparently read his report.

“What’s it say?”

Harry sighs. “Inconclusive…expect better from my deputy head…deeper investigation…observe more than one client…soft on him…and on and on. In other words, I’m spending the day with Malfoy again.”

“Do you mind, really?” Ron asks.

“Why are you my friend?” Harry asks.

***

Mrs Dunn is fairly bouncing with excitement when Draco and Pansy arrive for their second overnight stay. Bookings are way up since the article in the paper, she informs them gleefully. Another night like they had last time and she’s certain the elitist pillocks who write the _Twenty-One Most Haunted_ list will be knocking at her door.

“Surely anything with _near_ Edinburgh in the title can’t be run by elitist pillocks,” Pansy says, just loud enough for Mrs Dunn to hear.

“You must be very lonely, dear,” responds Mrs Dunn.

“Shall we take a look at the upstairs bath?” Draco inserts cheerfully.

Trudy is hanging about in the bathroom. She glares at them when they come in. “She left. Doesn’t want to see you yet. Says you’ll only pretend to be her friend.”

Draco stares at the child. He gets the impression there’s more to that sentence, but she stops talking when she notices him looking at her.

They all crowd in and, with the four of them in small room, they’re shoulder to shoulder. Trudy steps inside the bath. Mrs Dunn stays closer to Draco than seems absolutely necessary.

“Draco,” says Pansy. “Look at this.” She’s pointing to the bottom left corner of the mirror. There’s a smudge of something greenish and shiny. “Is that —?”

Draco looks closer, and it is. “That’s honest to Merlin ectoplasm,” he says. “Take a sample, Pans.”

Pansy pulls one of the vial and swab sets she harassed Draco for buying out of her pocket. She collects some of the slimy substance with the swab and slips it into the vial.

“If it turns bright green, it’s ectoplasm — residue a ghost leaves behind in a place they frequent,” he explains to Mrs Dunn. He touches his wand through his pocket and whispers, “_Revelio_.” The stuff in the tube glows.

“She doesn’t like her bathroom to be a mess,” says Trudy. “I usually wipe it up for her.”

“Good lord,” says Mrs Dunn, gripping Trudy’s shoulder.

Trudy jerks out of her grandmother’s grip. “I _told_ you, Gran,” says Trudy. “She not scary at all.”

Draco pulls out a bottle of green liquid. “This is a proprietary formula we developed in our lab.” It’s water he’s charmed to be green. He sprays it on the mirror and the ectoplasm disappears. As he does this, while Mrs Dunn is focused on the mirror and what Draco’s doing, Pansy takes hold of her wand in her pocket and whispers, “_Scourgify_.” Draco almost feels bad lying to Mrs Dunn now. Something tells him she could handle the truth.

“Here, what’s she doing in her pocket?” Trudy pipes up. From her vantage point in the bath, she has an unobstructed view of Pansy’s hands.

“How old are you, Trudy?” Draco asks, both wanting to know and hoping to change the topic.

“I’m ten and seven twelfths,” she says, with a tone as if Draco’s challenged her to a duel.

Well, he thinks, Mrs Dunn will find out the truth soon enough.

“Do you think your ghost friend will come and visit again, so we can ask if she’ll stay?” Pansy asks.

“Don’t know,” says Trudy. “She doesn’t do as I say. Besides, I think she likes you to go to all that fuss.”

“Do you think she’s really talking to a ghost?” Mrs Dunn asks.

“I do,” Draco says. “But we’ll conduct another night of investigations, and hopefully we’ll have conclusive answers for you in the morning.”

They go about the house, setting up their equipment and candles again. Draco pretends to check the angle on the camera in the living room. He fiddles with the controls on the audio recorder and moves the Sneakoscope three inches to the right. Mrs Dunn looks on, arms crossed over her chest, nodding approvingly. Draco’s begun to like her enough that he feels increasingly uncomfortable with the deception, but, he rationalises, he’s helping her business. He’s only doing as she’s asked.

It’s nearly midnight and time for Pansy to go into her fake trance when the doorbell rings.

“Who the devil’s ringing at this time of night,” Mrs Dunn exclaims bustling to the door.

Draco turns to see her open it, revealing Harry bloody Potter standing on her doorstep.

“Good evening,” Mrs Dunn says. Even from the sitting room, Draco can see that she eyes Potter appreciatively. He can see why. Potter’s wearing a charcoal grey suit with a dove grey, collared shirt. The top button of his shirt is open and Draco can see his strong throat and a hint of his collar bones.

“Hello,” says Harry and Draco hurries into the entry-way.

“And this is my competition, Mrs Dunn,” Draco says, charming and cool as he can manage with Potter standing there looking bloody good enough to eat. “Mr Harvey Peter, ghost hunter. If you’ve caught his attention, the fame of your ghost must be spreading. Although, he’s nowhere near my calibre.”

“Oh, lovely,” says Mrs Dunn. “I’ll fetch some tea.”

“Mr Peter, a word?” Draco asks as Mrs Dunn hurries down the hallway to the kitchen. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nowhere near your calibre?” Harry says, raising one eyebrow and Draco notices how the pale grey of his shirt seems to highlight the ridiculous green of his eyes.

“_What_ are you doing here?” Draco hisses. “I’ve done nothing to let her know I’m a wizard.”

“My boss wasn’t satisfied with my report. And, there was magic detected,” Harry whispers. “And this is a Muggle dwelling.”

“Of course there was,” says Draco, leaning close to Harry so he can lower his voice even more. Potter smells of sandalwood. “I’m here. There’s no law against being in a Muggle dwelling.”

“No, there was a spell cast — not just your presence.” Harry doesn’t lean away, even after he’s finished speaking.

Trudy chooses that moment to walk down the stairs. Draco straightens and nods at the child.

“Hello Mr Draco,” she says. “I don’t know you,” she adds, scrutinising Harry.

“I’m — ”

“Miss Trudy Dunn, allow me to introduce you to Mr Harvey Peter,” says Draco with a flourish. “He’s come to learn more about your ghost.”

“He’s not going to make her go away, is he?” Trudy asks. “She likes me.”

Draco’s stomach squirms. If the ministry learns about Trudy and that Draco has been spending time here, they’ll accuse him of teaching her magic, violating the statute of secrecy, and operating a magical business in a Muggle area without proper registration. Only the last one is true, so the whole thing would be unfair.

“She talks to you?” Harry asks, glancing at Draco.

“She likes me and we’re friends.” Trudy looks at him suspiciously. “I’m going to introduce her to Mr Draco later, but she doesn’t like Miss Pansy.” Trudy turns and stomps into the kitchen.

“The child’s a witch,” says Harry as soon as she’s out of earshot.

“Well spotted.”

“Was it your magic or hers, then?” Potter asks. “I mean to say, if it were hers, then you’ve nothing to worry about and I don’t need to Obliviate anyone or report you.”

“I haven’t done any magic today if that’s what you’re asking,” says Draco. “Well, much. And nothing anyone’s seen.”

“Tea,” Mrs Dunn calls from the other room, saving Draco from an onslaught of Potter’s questions.

“Mrs Dunn, you don’t need five,” Pansy is saying as they step into the room. “Ghosts don’t drink — oh, Potter. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Never mind her, Mr Peter,” says Mrs Dunn. “She’s a bit rude.”

“So I noticed,” says Harry. He’s smirking again, his green eyes twinkling, and Draco isn’t sure he can stand much more of Potter’s various expressions and crinkling and twinkling eyes.

They sit down for tea and Draco does his best not to stare at Potter. He distracts himself by going over the plan. He suggests that Mrs Dunn put Trudy to bed in her room again, and that Pansy go and make sue all the candles are lit. The moment Trudy and Mrs Dunn and Pansy have left the room, Harry starts back in.

“I thought you were supposed to be easing Muggles’ fears by getting rid of ghosts,” says Harry. “You’re going to make me have to rewrite my entire report.”

“She wants a ghost, Potter,” says Draco. “Apparently there’s a market for haunted B and B’s amongst the Muggles.”

“But they can’t actually see them,” says Harry.

“Don’t tell them that,” Draco says. “If we can get Mrs Dunn on a list, she’s likely to be set for business for life.”

“You’re trying to help her.” Harry gives him a soft look that makes Draco feel itchy and too warm. “You’ve gone soft.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I want to be on the yelp.” Draco glares at Harry. He’s still looking at him like that. “Stop it,” he snaps.

Harry just laughs and Draco thinks he’s probably in a bit of trouble.

*

Now that Potter’s here and they know there’s a bona fide ghost, Draco’s not as keen on the smoke and mirrors of the other night. They stake out the bathroom. Nothing happens all night. A few times, they think they hear some noises in the pipes, and some gurgling coming from the toilets, but there’s no tangible sign of the ghost.

Mrs Dunn treats them to the full breakfast she’d give her guests. Between bites of sausage, Trudy informs them that the ghost visited in the night and has a message.

“She says she’s beginning to like you again and you should come back. She’ll talk to you next time.”

“Will she now?” Pansy asks.

“I still don’t think she likes you,” Trudy says. “She likes Mr Draco and Mr Peter. She said you should have a shower next time.”

“Trudy, I’m sure she didn’t say that. Mr Mall and Mr Peter are very clean. At any rate, I’ve guests tomorrow,” says Mrs Dunn. “It’ll have to be Tuesday.”

“I’ll have to come with you again,” Potter says, yawning as they step out into the chilly morning.

“Didn’t get enough to close us down?” Draco pulls his coat around him, thinking about his bath and his own bed again.

“That’s not what I’m going for, Malfoy.” If Draco’s not imagining things, Harry sounds a bit disappointed. “In fact, can we meet up for a drink? At the pub? I need to get some background information for my report.”

“All right,” Draco says.

Harry Disapparates first, and Pansy says, “Background, my arse.”

*****

“Don’t fret, love,” says Harry’s mirror. “Your lad knows what you look like by now and he doesn’t seem to mind.”

Harry straightens his collar and pats some aftershave on his chin and neck. He doesn’t touch his hair. There’s no need to correct the mirror — whether she’s talking about Paul or Draco, they both know what he looks like. Paul always said he liked Harry’s hair and if the way Draco’s been looking at him lately is any indication, Draco might not mind it so much either.

Whatever happens, he’s no intention of shutting Draco’s — and Pansy’s, he supposes — business down. And, he’s very much hoping this evening is going to be about more than work.

Draco is in the same seat he was last time they met here. He takes a moment to let himself, openly and with full knowledge, admire Draco. His long back curves; he leans forward slightly, arms resting on the ancient wood of the bar. His silvery hair is loose, falling forward to cover his face as he contemplates the depths of his drink. After all of those years pretending, it is still thrilling to walk into a place and know what he wants, be who he is. It’s oddly fitting that tonight, he’s with Malfoy.

“Is this our place now?” Harry asks, taking the seat next to Draco. He feels like an idiot the moment the words leave his mouth.

“Do we have a place, Potter?” Draco asks.

“That was stupid,” Harry says quickly. “Never mind.”

Draco leans closer and Harry’s certain he breathes a little deeper when he’s close to Harry. “Sandalwood?” He asks and then almost as if he didn’t say it, the moment passes and Draco’s calling the bartender over so Harry can order his drink.

Harry’s heart is beating faster than normal and he searches for something to say so he won’t embarrass himself.

“I never really thought much about ghosts outside of Hogwarts,” he says, hoping Draco won’t find him dull. Harry’s never fancied himself much of a conversationalist. “I mean, I never saw one before I started there.”

“There was one in my grandmother’s house. Her great-uncle,” Draco says. “He died in front of his fire and he was too mean to leave the house to his kids, so he stayed.”

“Wow, that’s determination,” Harry laughs. “Kind of like Professor Bins, but he stayed more out of inertia than anything, I think.”

Harry’s drink arrives and he takes a large sip. The astringent heat of the whisky warms him through. Draco watches him take his drink in a way that warms Harry even more.

“And?”

“What?” Harry asks. He was getting a bit lost in the unexpected pleasure of having a drink with Draco. He doesn’t, however, think he was that deep in that he’d missed Draco asking him a question.

“You promised to tell me about the last decade and why you’ve let everyone down,” Draco says. “And, it’s your turn.”

“There’s not that much to tell,” Harry says.

“I’m not buying that for a moment.”

He finds himself telling Draco about how he struggled with giving up the family he thought he’d have with the Weasleys. That was the main reason it took him as long as it did to break it off with Ginny, and to come out. Of course, they’d insisted he was family no matter what, and he was. They meant it, but he knew it wasn’t the same as if he and Ginny had married. Once he’d given up Ginny and that particular future, he realised he didn’t have to continue with any of the plans he’d made as a teenager. He’d woken up one morning and it was clear to him that he didn’t want to be an Auror.

“I can imagine that, once you’d finished off You-Know-Who, any garden-variety dark wizard wouldn’t be much of a challenge,” says Draco.

Harry pauses to take another drink. That’s what everyone thought, and for some reason he’d assumed Draco would know it wasn’t so simple.

“That wasn’t it, was it?” Draco asks.

“I was a liability in the field,” Harry says. “Even when I was a trainee, anyone we were after would be so hell bent on killing me that the others had to spend as much energy protecting me as they did doing their jobs. I became the focus, not the work. I’ve had enough of being the center of attention, particularly of dark wizards. I didn’t want it when I was eleven, and I don’t want it now. And then when I’d get home after working a case, all of the memories came back, every one in a flood, all at once. So, what you said the other day about the appeal of learning how memory works, how to isolate ones you don’t need, how to take just enough so one thing is gone — yeah, nail on the head.”

“Must have been tempting to go down that road,” Draco says gently.

Harry stops breathing. He’s never talked to anyone except Ron and Hermione about that. No one except the two of them, Irvin who’d ordered him to see a Healer, and the Healer he saw for a few months know. “Uh, yeah. I overdid it for a while,” says Harry. “Almost cost me my job. Almost cost me everything.”

“I misused sleeping and calming potions,” says Draco. “Not so different. Careful with things now as well.” Draco lifts his drink. “No more than once a week. Just in case.”

“Maybe we should meet somewhere else next time,” says Harry. “This doesn’t have to be our place.”

“Last call, lads,” shouts the bartender.

“Next time,” says Draco. “There’s going to be a next time?”

“If you want there to be,” Harry asks. He certainly hopes there is, and he’d assumed after tonight, there would be. Something idiotic deep within him makes his say, “I realise that mixing business with, er, pleasure, is a bit questionable.”

“Are you offering a good report in exchange for going out with you, Potter?” Draco asks. “How scandalous.”

Harry freezes. He has no idea what to say. He doesn’t know what made him bring up work. He hadn’t thought about it in relation to Draco all evening. Draco’s right, though; Harry’s investigating him.

“No, Merlin no,” Harry says, all the warm, pleasant, close feeling evaporating like mist. “That’s — not at all.” If Draco thought all evening that Harry was trying to get something from him in exchange for a non-damaging report, they’ve had a very different evening than Harry’s thought they had. “You’re right. I should probably go.”

Harry gets up and drops some money on the bar. Despite his best intentions, he glances back at Draco as he pushes open the door. Draco looks like a man lost at sea and Harry has no idea how to feel.

*****

Draco walks through Mrs Dunn’s house, checking the candles and the recording devices. Pansy is upstairs setting up additional equipment in and around the bathroom. The ritual is comforting, and he’s almost starting to believe it’s necessary himself. This is the last night they’ll spend here, if all goes well, but Draco’s having trouble reconciling that he won’t see Mrs Dunn again. Perhaps Potter’s right. He is getting soft.

“Pansy,” he calls up the stairs. “All’s good here.”

“Almost for me,” Pansy shouts back. “I’ve the ankle-biter in my way.”

As fond as Draco has become of Mrs Dunn, Draco thinks, Pansy has become of Trudy. Sees herself in the girl — not necessarily her best self, mind.

The doorbell rings and Draco has a sinking feeling he knows who it is.

“Mr Peter,” Mrs Dunn exclaims when she opens the door. “Lovely to see you again. You look awfully smart.”

Draco steps out of the front room and there he is, indeed looking smart in black, neatly cut trousers and a close fitting, dark green jumper. Whoever the hell taught Harry how to dress, Draco wants to meet them so he can thank them.

“What a surprise,” Draco says. “The way we left it the other night, I thought you were perhaps no longer interested — in this particular investigation.”

“What?” Mrs Dunn asks, looking very concerned. “Two’s surely better than one for my…I mean, for the investigation.”

“Mr Mall is mistaken,” says Harry. “I’m still very interested. Nothing but a misunderstanding.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” says Draco. He turns to Harry and in a move that makes him feel a little like he’s looking into the sun, he smiles and lets how glad he truly is show on his face.

“Everything is set up for later,” Pansy says, coming down the stairs. “Oh, he’s here,” she says when she sees Harry.

“Hello, Ms Parks,” Harry says nodding. Draco’s impressed. He seems determined to be cordial.

“As I was saying,” she continues. “We’re ready and now it’s just to wait.”

They wait for hours. Nothing happens. Draco reflects that if Harry weren’t there to look at, this might be the most boring evening of his life.

Pansy yawns and one after the other, the yawn ripples through all of them.

“You’ve set up sensors and the like,” Mrs Dunn says. “If the ghost appears tonight, they’ll wake us. Is that not right?”

“That’s right,” says Draco.

“In that case, I’m away to my bed. And you should too. You’ll be useless if anything does happen. You can have a lie down in Trudy’s,” says Mrs Dunn, jabbing a finger in Pansy’s direction.

Pansy looks like she’s about to object, but Draco says, “That way you’ll be near the upstairs bath to see if any of our sensors go off. Mrs Dunn, is there a room by the downstairs bath?”

“There is,” she says. “One on each side, adjoining, like. You and Mr Peter can each have one of them. There’s fresh towels on the beds. Wake me if anything happens.”

*

Draco goes into the bathroom. He washes his face and cleans his teeth and then he stares in the mirror.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks his reflection. The mirror doesn’t answer. He nearly jumps out of his skin when there’s a knock at the door.

Harry’s there. He’s taken off his jumper and is in the black trousers and a white tee-shirt. His feet are bare and his awful hair is sticking straight up. _Merlin, he’s lovely_, is all Draco can think.

“Erm.” Harry clears his throat and Draco realises he’s been staring.

“I’ll, eh, yeah,” Draco says. “Good night.” And he shuts the bathroom door quickly. He doesn’t know what to do, so he hangs about at the loo door like an arse listening for what Harry’s doing. “Right, now I’ve crossed a line,” he says as he has to admit to himself that he’s listening to Harry brush his teeth and have a piss. He was so sure earlier that they’d moved beyond the misunderstanding of last night and he was certain Harry would do _something_, and now his confidence is gone.

The water stops running and Draco doesn’t hear any movement from the bathroom. He also doesn’t here the door open and close.

Draco lifts his hand to knock and stops just short of the door. What the hell would he say? _Hello Potter. I thought you perhaps fancied me but here you’ve used the bathroom as a bathroom and not a portal to me, so I’m wondering._ No, he thinks, definitely no way to say that without sounding stupid.

He lets his hand fall back to his side and is about to flop dejectedly on the flowered coverlet on the bed when there’s a knock at the door.

“Draco?” The voice on the other side says.

Draco turns the handle and opens it.

“What is it, Potter?” Draco asks, which is nowhere near what he wants to say.

The determined look on Harry’s face falters. “I, uh, wanted to make sure I knew what’s to happen next.”

“We wait for signs that there really is a ghost and then we try and get it to talk to us,” says Draco.

“That’s not what I meant,” says Harry, stepping all the way into the room.

“Oh,” Draco says and he’s not going to get more of an opening than that. “I’m sorry, Potter. About the other night, I mean.” To his great surprise, the words don’t actually choke him. “My sense of humour is not to everyone’s taste, or so I’ve been told.”

“And I’ve been told that I sometimes take the whole honour thing a bit too far,” Harry says. “Ridiculous if you ask me. I’m the definition of easy-going.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Draco steps so close to Harry that he can feel the heat radiating off him. Harry has nowhere to go. He’s pressed up against the ornate, cream-coloured desk. Draco has a strong urge to sweep the porcelain figurines and the Caithness glass to the floor and push Harry onto the desk. Harry’s eye flash and Draco wonders if he wants him to do it.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” Harry says.

“Want me to sign a waiver, absolving you of any quid pro quo?” Draco asks.

Harry frowns and Draco’s afraid he’s gone too far. “I’ve already handed in my report. Nothing that happens tonight will change a thing. Smart arse.”

“What? Then why are you here? I thought you needed to continue observing me.” Draco places the tip of his forefinger on Harry’s chest. He can feel Harry’s sharp inhale.

“I wanted to continue observing you,” Harry says, leaning closer, into the press of Draco’s finger, so that Draco is forced to move his hand or open it and press the palm against Harry’s chest. He chooses to press the palm against Harry’s chest and the feel of the soft cotton of his tee-shirt and the firm muscle beneath makes Draco’s heart beat faster.

“All right,” Draco says, making a split-second decision. He sinks to his knees. “Then watch me.”

Draco presses his hands against Harry’s stomach and slides them down to Harry’s thighs. Harry gasps as Draco smooths his palms across Harry’s strong thighs, over his hip bones, and around to his arse. Harry’s hard already and Draco lets himself stare hungrily at his erection. Harry seems to be holding his breath as Draco unfastens Harry’s trousers.

Draco works Harry’s trousers and pants down his hips and pushes his tee-shirt up.

“Not bad, Potter,” Draco says, taking in the beautiful sight before him.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, and Draco loves that Harry seems unable to speak. He’s trembling.

Draco licks a stripe down the palm of his hand and works it over the head of Harry’s cock. The feel of it in his hand makes his own cock ache. It gets slicker and slicker as Draco rubs over the head and works his hand up and down the shaft.

He presses a kiss to the tip and slides his mouth over the head. He looks up to watch Harry watching him. His own cock is aching and hard and he’s not sure how much longer he can wait to be touched. At the same time, he’s utterly pinned by the fierce desire in Harry’s gaze. Harry’s hand cups Draco’s head, his fingers working into Draco’s hair.

“Come up here,” Harry says, his voice low and rough. His hand tightens in Draco’s hair and he holds Draco there, even as he mutters again, “C’mere.”

“A little more,” says Draco, his mouth still touching Harry’s cock as his hand works him. “I want to see what you’ll look like when you’re behind me, fucking me,” he says.

“Fuck,” moans Harry. His hips jerk forward and Draco opens his mouth to take him in. Harry makes a strangled sound and pulls back so his cock slides from Draco’s mouth. “Not yet,” he says, hauling Draco to his feet and pulling him close.

Harry’s mouth is on Draco’s and Draco moans at the thought that Harry can taste himself. Harry rocks his hips against Draco, their bodies pressed so close together. Draco lets his hand wander down Harry’s back and over his perfect arse.

“Off,” Harry says, yanking at Draco’s shirt. Draco feels Harry’s lips move, forming a word, as Harry leans in to kiss him again, and Draco is naked in his arms.

Draco moans into the kiss. His chest is hard against Harry’s and their tongues slide against each other in a slow, demanding rhythm. Harry’s cock slides against Draco’s hip and Draco shifts so their cocks rub against each other.

“Mm,” Harry groans, cupping Draco’s arse. Harry leans back against the desk and Draco hears an ornament fall. They’ll get it later. All that matters now is that Harry is pulling Draco closer, half lifting him so their cocks can slide deliciously against each other, the friction building.

“Yes,” Draco hears himself whine. Watching the way Harry moves his hips is enough to make Draco come. He can’t stop thinking about what it will feel like to have those powerful hips and that beautiful cock fucking him.

Harry reaches between them and grasps both of their cocks in his broad, strong hand. “Fuck me,” he says and Draco thrusts. His cock is pressed tight against Harry’s and he can feel the slick heads pushing through Harry’s hand. It’s hot and tight and fast, and faster.

“Draco, god, yes,” Harry gasps and his hips stutter and he moves his hand faster, coming over his hand.

Draco’s cock is impossibly hot and slick, and Harry’s cock is still hard. He wraps his arms tight around Harry’s neck, kissing him hard and wanting to touch him everywhere as his own orgasm rushes through him.

Draco buries his face in Harry’s neck and slowly lets his own feet take his weight again. His legs are shaking as if he’s just run a mile.

Harry presses his forehead to Draco’s and Draco listens to Harry’s breath coming fast and shallow. Harry laughs. “That was brilliant.”

“Wait until you see what’s next,” says Draco, the intimacy and the fact that Harry hasn’t pulled away, hasn’t moved to wipe off his hands and put distance between them, making him bold.

Harry kisses him deeply and Draco feels a renewed wave of want.

“I can’t wait,” says Harry, but his words are cut off by a buzzing sound from the detector in the hallway outside the bedroom. “Shit,” says Harry, stepping back from Draco with an obvious effort that makes Draco giddy.

Draco grabs for his wand and tidies them both up and says, “You’d better sit down, Potter. You look like you might fall over.”

He opens the door and Trudy is standing in the hallway staring at the door, and for one wild moment, Draco wonders if she’s been taken over by some spirit.

“The ghostie wants me to tell you something,” Trudy says.

“What’s that?” Harry asks.

“She wants to see what’s next too,” Trudy says. “Don’t know what she means, but she likes to watch you. Both of you. Says she always has.”

“Trudy,” Draco says gently, because the child is want to run off. “What do you mean she always has?”

“You used to come to her toilet,” says Trudy. “She told me all about it after the first time you came here. She thinks you both want to get rid of her, just like you did back at school. I’m the only one who understands her.”

“It’s bloody Moaning Myrtle,” Draco says, looking at Harry, whose mouth is hanging open. “Of all the…”

“You’re going to make her leave,” Trudy wails, sounding remarkably how Draco remembers Myrtle.

“How in Merlin’s name did she end up here?” Harry asks, looking from Trudy to Draco. “I guess you can tell your Mrs Dunn that the good news is she really does have a ghost, but the bad news is she’s going to have to go back to Hogwarts.”

*****

“How was your sleepover party with Malfoy?” Ron asks.

“Shut it,” Harry mutters. He’ll tell Ron, he will, but right now he has all of the work he’s neglected all week to finish and he desperately wants to get it done so he can ask Malfoy to a proper dinner, and then get him to make good on his promise.

“Weasley,” Irvin shouts from across the room. “Don’t you have work to do? Because I know Potter does.”

“You do know you’re just there, right?” Ron asks. “You’re not in another room.”

If Irvin had a door, he would have slammed it. As it is, he huffs and turns his back. The best he can do, Harry supposes.

“Potter.”

Another voice makes Harry look up. Draco is in the doorway, looking gorgeous. And furious. He holds up a piece of parchment. “What the hell is this?” He demands.

“I’d better get on with my paperwork, too,” Ron says. “Uh, yeah. See you, mate.” He sidles out of the room, slipping past Draco.

“What the hell is what?” Harry asks. He wishes Irvin did have a door because he’d ask him to close it.

The piece of parchment zooms from Draco’s hand and hovers an inch from Harry’s face. Draco is still fuming in the doorway. “And don’t act as if you didn’t have something to do with this.”

Harry glances at the letter. “Irvin,” he says. “Could you give us the room?”

Irvin glares at Harry, but he gets up to leave. Harry will have to pay for this later. He’ll probably finally need to build him a partition so Irvin at least has his own cubicle.

It’s a letter from the Ministry, warning Draco that he’s out of chances. Telling him that the mere existence of his business borders on violating the Statute of Secrecy. Stating that he will be summoned to a hearing, at a date to be determined, to prove why they shouldn’t close him down.

“What did you write in your report, Potter?” Draco shouts. “I cannot believe I trusted you. Fuck, you’re more Slytherin than I am. Get me to trust you, and then use everything I show you against me. Did you tell them how well I suck cock, too?”

Harry sits back. He feels like he’s been shoved. “This is a mistake.”

“You’re bloody right it is,” Draco says. “You can shove your report straight up your arse.”

“Malfoy, listen to me,” Harry says. This is spiralling out of control and Harry can hear the blood pounding in his ears.

“I tried that already and look what it got me,” Malfoy shouts. “You’re a bigger prick than I remember. Stay the fuck away from me and Pansy.”

Harry opens his mouth to shout him down, tell him he’s got it all wrong. He’s turned on his heel and stomped out of the room before Harry can formulate a sentence.

The silence in the office is deafening. Harry’s breakfast turns to a brick in his stomach.

*****

Draco’s relieved to find Pansy not at home. He’s going to have to tell her. He’s going to have to prepare for the hearing. Today, he’s not going to do any of that. Today, he’s going to sit on his arse and feel sorry for himself.

He heads straight for the drinks cabinet and resists the temptation to drink right out of the bottle of brandy. He does pour himself a generous measure and is about to light a fire when he notices a thick envelope on the table. Pansy’s stuck a note to it that says, _Looks like your hero came through. You must be one hell of a cock sucker_. That last stings a bit. Pansy couldn’t have known quite how much it would, but he’ll make her pay for it at any rate.

He slides a stack of parchment from the envelope and reads, _Departmental Report, Harry Potter for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Assessment of the magical/Muggle business called Spirited, operated by Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, DBA D. Mall and P. Parks_.

His hand shakes as he takes a huge sip of his brandy. It burns and warms him going down.

He skims the first page. It’s all introduction and descriptions of the business. Harry then describes that he observed the business operating with two different clients.

_The staff of ‘Spirited’ went to great lengths to assuage Muggles’ fears and to use only the magic necessary to conduct their business, generally expertly camouflaging their magic with the use of Muggle tools and products. This writer observed Malfoy and Parkinson to use different techniques to maintain the International Statute of Secrecy as the situation called for it._

Draco’s drink sits forgotten as he devours each word. Harry describes the different families and how Draco seemed determined to help them. He writes that Malfoy only performed magic when necessary and only exposed slightly more magic in the Dunn household because there is indeed a ghost and the Muggle family is aware of her. One paragraph jumps out and him and he reads it again and again.

_Most important to note is the presence of a child, a witch aged ten years. The child was sent to live with her grandmother by her Muggle parents who were unable to manage signs of her magical talent. The parents were reportedly cruel to the child and the grandmother feared for her well-being. By working with Mrs Dunn and her family, Mr Malfoy and Ms Parkinson have provided valuable assistance to Mrs Dunn in understanding the world her granddaughter is about to enter and support to a magical child who has been misunderstood. Indeed, it is this writer’s assertion that the child will be more prepared to make a smooth transition to Hogwarts in a year because of their interventions._

Harry must have spoken to Mrs Dunn alone. Draco had no idea that Trudy had been mistreated.

The report concludes that Draco’s done nothing wrong and his business is legitimate. The letter from the Ministry still looms, but Draco can’t help but feel elated that Harry didn’t lie to him. The other thought that occurs to him is that he needs to help Mrs Dunn get her review in the paper before Harry tries to make Myrtle leave.

*****

Harry Apparates to the alley behind Mrs Dunn’s house. He feels that sense of steely resolve he always feels when he’s about to push through something he’s dreading. He starts off toward Mrs Dunn’s neat front garden when he hears a crack behind him. He whirls around and is face-to-face with Draco.

“Listen, I—” Harry starts even as he’s no idea what he’s going to say. He doesn’t expect Draco to speak to him, given how they last parted. He’s here to make things as right as he can. If Draco wants nothing to do with him now, well, he’s already planned a campaign to wear him down.

“Stop,” Draco says. “I read your report. I followed up with the Ministry and they wrote that letter before you turned in the report.”

“Oh,” Harry says. The tight fist in his chest loosens. “Are you finished shouting at me, then?”

“Depends on how you behave,” says Draco and Harry feels a smile spread on his face. “You here to dash my client’s hopes of being the most verifiably haunted bed and breakfast in Britain?”

Harry pushes open the front gate as they arrive at the walk, and Draco lets him hold it for him. “As it turns out,” he says. “The Ministry doesn’t have the authority to tell a ghost where to live. So, no. I am not. I thought perhaps you and I could have a little talk with Myrtle and help your Mrs Dunn to achieve her dreams.”

Mrs Dunn is thrilled. Harry can’t help but find her happiness infectious when Draco hands her the report he’s written. She already has an envelope addressed to the top twenty-one list, with postage and all, ready to go. After reviewing their findings with her, Draco turns to Harry.

“One last thing to do, Mr Peter?”

“I’d say so,” Harry says.

They ascend the stairs and make their way to the upstairs bathroom. They hear Trudy’s voice and then the unmistakable whine of Moaning Myrtle. As soon as they open the door, there’s a splash and Trudy is standing in the middle of the bathroom alone.

“You frightened her away,” Trudy says, moaning enough that Harry’s concerned she’s spending too much time with Myrtle. “She thinks you’re angry with her for spying on you.”

“She’s having you on,” Draco says. “She’s never once cared about being caught spying.”

“I can attest to that,” Harry says. “Myrtle,” he calls. “We’d really like to see you.”

A gurgling sound emanates from the tap and a moment later, Myrtle issues forth as if she were being squeezed from a tube.

“Hello, Harry,” she says, in a simpering tone. “You and Draco look very nice.”

“Hi Myrtle,” says Draco.

“You stopped visiting me,” she snaps. “Why do you want me now?”

“You like it here? Trudy’s your friend?” Harry asks, thinking he might be in a better position to ask a favour if she’s still angry with Draco for something that happened when they were in school.

“Trudy never makes fun of me,” Myrtle says.

“Right,” Harry says. “Trudy’s a good friend. Here’s the thing, you could help Trudy’s grandmother if you were to stay here. Make yourself known when they have guests staying. Go through a room. Splash some water. Could you do that?”

“It would be very nice of you, Myrtle,” says Draco.

“Only if you promise to visit me,” she says so quickly that Harry’s sure they’ve been played. “Both of you.”

“We promise,” says Draco.

Harry glances at Draco and Draco shrugs.

“And will you let me see you kiss?”

“Ew,” says Trudy at the same moment as Harry says, “Maybe.”

*Nineteen Days Later*

Draco wakes to Harry’s soft snoring in his ear. Early morning light brightens the room. He can only have been asleep for a couple of hours. He lets himself enjoy the feeling of the warm sheets and Harry’s warmer skin. Harry’s curled around him, one arm thrown over Draco’s body. Draco presses back against Harry. In a little while, he’ll wake Harry up by rocking against him, pressing his arse against Harry’s cock until he’s hard again. Right now, he’s going to enjoy the rays of sun and the quiet intimacy of Harry sleeping next to him.

The mobile phone Draco bought for his business buzzes. He can reach it without disturbing Harry so he grabs is and reads the text.

“Whazzit?” Harry asks fuzzily.

“Mrs Dunn. She’s number two on the list. Apparently, Mrs Williams in Wishaw has acquired a ghost-cat. She wants us to come by and help her plot revenge. And, Trudy got her letter. She wants to know if Pansy will take her shopping.”

“S’good,” murmurs Harry, clears not quite awake.

He’s awake enough, though, thinks Draco. They’ll go and help Mrs Dunn later. Pansy will pretend to want nothing less than to take Trudy shopping, but she’ll love it. And for now, Harry’s moving closer, wrapping his arm around Draco tighter, and Draco can feel him starting to response to the way Draco is pressing back against him. They’ve definitely been worse.

**Author's Note:**

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